Disclaimer: The characters belonged to themselves. No offence meant. This is pure fiction and NOT historical fact. Despite that, this fic belongs to me.

Summary: In 1586, the imprisoned Queen of Scotland received a note from a conspirator who wanted to put her onto the throne of England. Mary's POV.

Author's notes: This is inspired by the Babington Plot. Thanks for the lovely review. Please read and enjoy! Also, reviews are most welcome!

A letter. Another plan for a plot.

A plot to put me, the rightful Catholic heir, onto England's throne.

A plot that will restore me as Queen of Scotland. A plot that will make me Queen of England. Most importantly, a plot that will set me free.

I ponder.

I have been involved in quite a number of plot against that illegitimate Elizabeth, born from the unholy alliance of King Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. Yet, they did not have enough evidence to charge me, or simply they did not want to, because they had no rights.

I am the Queen of Scotland, no matter how my own people forced me to abdicate. The English have no rights to put me into a trial. I am not the subject of that heretic who called herself Queen of England. She has cheated me, she has cheated me out of my rightful place as Queen of England, and of my freedom.

She cheated me. She lured me to England and imprisoned me. I should not have believed that she would help me to get back my throne. I have made a mistake.

Perhaps I made more than one mistake.

Perhaps I was wrong in letting my heart rule rather than my head. I have been brought up in France. I had been Queen Consort of France for a brief period until my first husband died and I returned to Scotland. I should not have married my cousin, Lord Darnley. I should not have been unfaithful to my husband, to dally with my private secretary. I should not have involved in killing Darnley. I should not…

But what I did are done already. There was no turning-back. I was forced to abdicate in favour of my son James. I never see him from that day onwards. He was an infant when I left him, and I did not know how he looked now. I am but a mother, and he is my son. How can they, my own subjects, do this to me?

The letter is still in my hand, and no one noticed it yet. I have to make my decision quickly. Without my support, this plot cannot succeed. They promise, Sir Anthony Babington and my other loyal supporters, to rescue me, to give me the throne of England, to give me the freedom I craved. They are willing to risk their lives for me.

Should I give them my support?

If this succeeded, that bastard Elizabeth would be overthrown. If this succeeded, I would see my son again. If this succeeded, I would get my freedom again.

Why am I hesitating?

It is a risk, but I realise that I have nothing to lose even if this failed. Nineteen years. It has been nineteen years since I set foot on England and get imprisoned. I witnessed my beauty faded with time. After nineteen years, Mary Stuart is still nothing but the prisoner of Elizabeth Tudor. The humiliation, the loss in freedom, the denial of James' presence. All those are worse than death itself.

I will win back everything if the plot succeeded.

I burn the letter with the fire in the fireplace, and watched as it being consumed by the bright fire. It is time for me to do something. I will never give up the struggle for freedom.

I sit down before my writing desk and pen my coded reply.

I will give them my supports. I will tell them I am willing to be the Queen of England.

This is a chance, a most excellent chance, and I have got a feeling that it will be an only chance.

The End

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